


Adrenaline Rush

by shibarifan01



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Rusco, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibarifan01/pseuds/shibarifan01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene in the aftermath of 3x12, Aleithia.  John and Lionel make their exit out of the bank. Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrenaline Rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This is a gift for my friend Kmmerc's birthday - she's my Rusco buddy - we're lone voices that scream in the slash desert. Ours is a small ship but it's a lovely one nonetheless...
> 
> missing scene in 3x12 (Aleithia). John sends the group on their way and he and Fusco have to leave by another exit. Smut ensues. Can be read in the wake of Hot Night at the Rusco Motel.

The emotion in Finch’s face as Reese removed his balaklava was almost too much for John to bear, but he forced himself to appear emotionless as he and Fusco went down the stairs. The adrenaline rush of saving the group in the face of very uncertain odds while at gunpoint had him almost vibrating with unspent energy and as the group was finally able to start making its way out of the bank, he bounded down the stairs, grabbing Fusco by the sleeve.  After looking down the sewer hole and ascertaining that neither Finch, Shaw or Claypool would be in danger, John decided that it would be best to exit through two separate areas, even if only to give Harold’s group a better chance to make it through. John and Fusco needed to find an alternate exit and John remembered seeing a fire exit two stories above. Holding on to Fusco’s arm, he almost dragged the other man up the stairs.

“Will you keep your shirt on! Let me catch my breath for fuck’s sake! Not all of us have legs that are two yards long and size 13 feet!” protested Fusco as he tried his best to keep up, his face red and sweaty, his breath sounding like he was in the throes of pneumonia.

“If you stayed away from donuts and did a bit of exercise once in a while, Lionel, instead of sitting in your cop car, you might be able to move a little faster! And I wouldn’t have to drag your fat ass around…” rasped Reese in his barely-there voice.

“Look who’s talking! I’m sure you eat more donuts than I do, Wonder-boy, you probably just have a faster metabolism! Besides, exercise, shmexercise! Oh, and by the way, I don’t remember hearing you complain about my fat ass when it was pumping inside you in Colorado!”

And that did it. In a manner of seconds, Fusco was thrown through the first door Reese saw, moving them both in what seemed like a broom closet lit only by one dirty window. He immediately wrapped one big strong hand against Fusco’s throat, the other around his mouth and nose. Out of breath as Fusco was, the impossibility to get any air in made him turn a deeper shade of purple as his eyes swam and he thought he’d faint on the spot. And Reese did not relent. He kept pushing Fusco’s head against the marble wall behind, not minding that his captive was about to lose it entirely.

Finally, after a full minute of this, he took pity on Fusco and removed his hand from the man’s mouth, wiping it on Lionel’s face with an air of disgust. “Lionel, I told you when we left Colorado that I never wanted to hear anything about that godforsaken place ever again.

But of course, Lionel couldn’t leave it alone, and like a dog with a bone, he yelled: “Ha! So you think that what happened in Colorado will stay in Colorado, big guy? And I’m supposed to forget all about it. Well fat chance! Just as you always used everything you could against me to get me to do your bidding, buttboy, well now the tables are turned and I’m going to be the one to remain on top in this little two-step dance we have going here!”

“You think the tables are turned? You think I couldn’t crush your windpipe in a second? You think you’re in a position to do anything about it, Lionel?” asked Reese, elongating Lionel’s name with many extra syllables and licking his ear in the process, making Fusco wiggle around to try and wipe it.

“Stop that you tall idiot!” said Fusco, finally freeing one hand and wiping his ear with a grimace, but Reese’s proximity, his anger and his heat had done their work and Fusco was hard as a rock. The events of barely a few minutes ago, the risk they took and the danger they faced commingled,  and moving his hips, he brushed his groin against Reese’s and was not surprised to see that the other man was in the same predicament. He moved his hand to undo Reese’s belt while the other man was still holding on to his head and breathing hard, looking miles away. He took down the zipper, hunted around and grasped on to Reese’s very hard dick, running his hand over the overheated skin, pulling on the thick slab of meat, his thumb rubbing the already wet crown, slicking the wetness around. His hand was grasping the taller man’s dick in a vise-like grip and John started bucking against him.

“You know how to change the subject, Lionel, I’ll give you that,” said Reese, finally removing his hands from Fusco’s windpipe entirely, putting both hands on the wall and letting Lionel continue his handiwork. “Aww yeah,” rasped Reese, pushing his forehead against Fusco. His anger seemed to have evaporated as his arousal increased, and he kept pumping in Fusco’s hand. “ Take it out Fusco, come on,” said Reese in a voice that was almost inaudible, bringing one hand to Lionel’s belt and trying to get his dick out of his pants.

“Hang on, buttboy, your hand’s in my way… what’s it with you left-handers, you always seem to get your hands in the way!” said Fusco.

“Lionel, I’m not left-handed, I’m ambidextrous.  And did you forget what I told you about calling me buttboy? ” asked John with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Well, buttboy, when I have your hard, weeping dick in my hand, I’ll call you whatever the hell I want to call you. And as for being ambiwhatever, you coulda fooled me! Get your hand out of there, sheesh!” said Lionel, finally whipping out his cock and grabbing it with the same hand that was already handling John. He now had both of them in his hand, John’s leaking dick slicking his own, the big pulsing veins rubbing against each other, the underside of their cocks and the heads rubbing hotly. Reese was breathing loudly through his nose, keeping his mouth shut so he wouldn’t start moaning like a cat in heat. Lionel’s breathing rasped in John’s ears and both men were rutting against each other, blind and deaf to anything else.

Finally, after barely a few minutes, after tensing all his muscles for a second, John started cumming in long jets and his voice went up until he was moaning loudly, unable to keep it in. The heat, Reese’s voice and the primeval smell brought Fusco over and soon he too was losing it, wrapping his other arm around John’s waist, keeping them both almost welded to each other until they’d finished shooting their load and started coming down from their high, their breath uneven, the adrenaline finally exiting their bodies, leaving them spent, sated and so, so tired. John stayed there for a while, his forehead on Fusco’s, while the trembling in his body subsided slowly, Fusco feeling like his knees were about to buckle and send them tumbling to the floor.

Reese finally turned around, started to put some order in his clothes. With eyes that were almost closed, he looked sideways at Fusco and said: “If you ever breathe one word of this to Finch, I swear I’ll kill you with my bare hands. It won’t matter much though… I’m leaving anyway, now that I know he’s safe. But you don’t need to add to the low opinion he already has of me, so keep your goddammed mouth shut,” said Reese, looking so tired and undone that Fusco almost felt like putting his arms around him.

“Come on, big guy, I was just trying to get you riled up.  Time to go home, and don’t worry, I won’t say a word to anyone.”

“There’s no ‘home’ for me Lionel, you know it, and I know it. I told you so earlier, didn’t I?” said John, so low that Fusco had to lean closer to hear him.

“Come on, big guy, you know you need to go back to Mr. Glasses, and don’t pretend like you don’t want to do just that. Besides, who would I tell? You think I want people to know that I sleep with guys, me, an upstanding police detective? First of all, nobody would ever believe that I got to plow that sweet ass of yours. You’re like a freaking tiger. Who’d want to go and grab it by the tail just to see if they can make him purr? Which I know you do, though!  Now come on, go back to Finch and make nice. He needs you, I mean he was almost in tears when he saw you, and I know you need him too. You haven’t been your perky self since that whole debacle started a few weeks ago,” and with that, Fusco put a hand on John’s shoulder and almost manhandled him through the rest of the corridor where they were able to open the window and use the emergency exit to make their way to the streets of New York City below.


End file.
